


syrup

by pointsnorth



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: :3c, M/M, ageswap au, i bet they get up to all sorts of hijinks and a lot of them involve food.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pointsnorth/pseuds/pointsnorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one ever eats something wholesome in these kinds of stories, like a Nameday Cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	syrup

Chocolates, unwrapped from their coloured foil confines and swapped between mouths; Haurchefant’s stolen them from his father’s kitchens and smuggled them over, and who is Francel to say no to sweets?

It’s messier, this way. Saliva, brown and sticky, trailing down their chins and smearing disgustingly, brown teeth, fragments of various nuts (is that almond? Oh, how he adores almonds)…It shouldn’t be appealing at all. To an outsider, it can’t look appealing at all. They must look filthy really.

 

But the mess can be cleaned up with a damp cloth, as all their messes can be, and whoever is Francel to say no to sweets when they’re suddenly, artfully arranged on bare skin? A praline-filled dainty atop his navel, a trail of its colleagues beginning to melt up Haurchefant’s belly and this is ever, ever so much more appealing to look at than tomes that are full of tactics and dust.

“Share one with me.”

He smiles (without teeth, self-conscious about the brown tinge now that he can see how Haurchefant’s sucked his own clean), leans over and bites what tastes like a La Noscean orange kind of creme in half. He has a tray of sweets to get to after all, and with the burgeoning flush blotching through said living platter’s skin, they’ll only melt all the faster.

 

Is it any surprise that Haurchefant, with all of his teenage hormones and bad, bad ideas, grows impatient and dots cherry cordials over his thighs and hips? Francel just laughs, quiet and gentle, and obliges. He’s fit to get a headache from all of these chocolates, all of them rich and terrible for the figure, but he loves this panting, squirming creature wordlessly begging underneath his mouth and he will suffer infinite headaches to please him.

…And if the noise Haurchefant makes when his leggings are unlaced happens to be especially delicious (despite his futile attempts to muffle it)? Then that just happens to be a bonus. Skin, sweat and thick, sweet spit make for the oddest combination on his tongue, and one that makes him think of the more exotic sweets made by more maverick chefs; he only drifts back out of his reverie when a hand strokes lovingly, reverently at his cheek and throat and he’s quietly urged to move.

 

The sweetest part of all, however, isn’t the box of fancy chocolates. It’s Haurchefant finally slipping off of his desk (dreamy and adoring) to kneel under it and finally return the favour.


End file.
